The Yanti (34 page)

“He’s a child!”

“So what? When you reach Earth, you’ll kill millions of children.”

“Enough, Geea. I have spoken! No more of this game!”

Geea turned her sword toward Ra. “Coward. Then I’ll kill him for you. I’ll cut off his head and you can wear it on the tip of your spear as you ride victorious into Earth.”

Quickly, Geea raised her sword to slice his neck. This time Ra was forced to close his eyes. The nerve of Geea! She was really going to kill him!

There came a loud clang of metal.

“No!” Lord Vak shouted.

Ra opened his eyes. Queen Geea’s blow had been halted by Lord Vak’s spear. The two weapons were only a fraction of an inch from Ra’s neck.

Geea panted. Lord Vak sweated. Ra felt close to fainting. There was love here, he thought, in the middle of all this hate and violence. There was a deeper meaning. All of them, they just had to find it.

“Why did you stop me?” Geea shouted at Lord Vak.

Lord Vak did not answer.

Geea went to snap at the elven king again, but then she looked down at Ra, and her sword fell from her hand. Tears burned her eyes—Ra would not have thought it possible.

“Why do you weep?” Lord Vak demanded.

“Because he’s your son,” she whispered.

“Geea . . .” Lord Vak began, but his voice was unsteady.

“How can you be so blind?” she asked.

Lord Vak backed up a step, shaking his head. Now he would not even look at Ra. “No. It can’t be true. It is not true.”

Geea went after him, grabbed him by the shoulders. “He’s Jira!”

Lord Vak made a feeble attempt to push her away. “Jira’s gone! He was here and now he’s gone and that’s it! He is no more!”

“Then kill the boy!” Geea cried.

“No!” Lord Vak snapped.

“He’s only a human! You hate humans!”

“No! I don’t hate . . .” Lord Vak did not finish his sentence.

On the vast field, there was a long moment of silence. Ra saw that Geea knew how to use it. She let Lord Vak be with his doubts. She let them grow.

Finally the elven king said, “I will question the boy further.”

Lord Vak’s approach was not threatening. Indeed, when he reached Ra, the elven king went down on his knee and handed Ra his black spear.

“What did we call this?” he asked, referring to the weapon.

“Starshaft,” Ra said, the name coming to him out of nowhere.

“Why did we call it that?”

“I remember something . . .” Ra strained.

Lord Vak nodded, and there was a hint of desperation in the gesture, and in his next words. “No one knew why except my son and me.”

Ra had it; the answer made him smile. “This spear—the ore we made it from came from a falling star.”

Lord Vak nodded, and perhaps his eyes burned as well.

“Why did we use it?” he whispered.

“Because the ore was so strong.”

“What did I used to . . .” Lord Vak began.

“You used to say it could cleave metal as if it were a loaf of bread.”

Lord Vak stared deep into his eyes. “Is it you, Jira? Is it really you?”

“Yes, Father,” Ra said, and he hugged him.

Lord Vak hugged him in return, and they wept in each other’s arms.

A
fter checking on Officer Garten to make sure he was comfortable and not crying too loudly—she brought him a sandwich and swore to him she was just teasing about the cannibal stuff, but she still couldn’t let him go—Ali flew to Washington, D.C. Landing on the south side of town, not far from the Pentagon, it did not take her long to locate 1618 Florence Street, apartment number 902.

It was after midnight, but Ali would have knocked on General Kabrosh’s door right then and there had she not heard a party going on inside. She was tired of major confrontations, and besides, she was physically exhausted. Best to rest and speak to him in the morning, she decided.

By chance, there was a five-star hotel across the street from the general’s place.

Ali did not try checking in. She flew around the top floor—where there were the most expensive suites—and found one unoccupied but with a window open. Picking up the phone inside, she was delighted to discover she could order room service by simply giving her room number. She asked for a small
steak, well-done, a baked potato; plus, of course, chocolate cake, and a bottle of Coke.

While waiting for the food, she took a quick shower and called her father’s cell. She got no answer. That worried her—he never turned it off. She called Hector Wells’s home in Toule next. He answered on the first ring.

“I knew it would be you,” he said. “I was about to call you.”

“So you guys just decided to throw all caution to the wind and run off with Nira?” she asked. “Was that smart?”

“I did not run off with Nira, obviously. I was told to wait here until you called.”

“By Nira?”

“Yes.”

Ali scratched her head. “After I left, did she just sort of announce to the gang that she was taking over?”

“She didn’t have to. We could all tell she was.”

“Hector, she’s your daughter. And she’s only six years old.”

“Yeah. You’re thirteen years old and you’re flying from one world to the next and slaying dragons and God knows what else. If we have to listen to you, then we have to listen to Nira even more.”

“Why even more?”

Hector hesitated. “That girl . . . she’s got power. No offense, Ali, but when she said she thought we should do such and such, we couldn’t argue. And she told us to leave that hotel immediately, and she said I would be safe here. She said the last thing Lucy wants is to hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Ali said.

“I do count on that. I trust her, and not just because she’s my daughter. You didn’t have a chance to talk to her much. But she
knows
.”

“What does she know?”

“She just knows what’s going on, you can feel it.”

“Did she leave any instructions for me?”

“She said you would come for me at some point.”

“When? Why?”

“She didn’t say. Don’t you know?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Where are you calling from? You’re using an East Coast line.”

Ali had used the hotel phone. “I’m in Washington, D.C.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Trying to figure out how the world’s going to end. Where are the others now?”

“I have no idea. Did you try calling your dad?”

“Yes.”

“So did I. All I know is, they’re not at your home. Nira did say it was not safe to go there. Not yet anyway.”

Ali thought of Garten tied up in the basement. “Yeah. That’s not a safe place. If you had to guess, where do you think they went?”

“I really have no idea. But Nira had a confidence about her.”

“Cindy’s parents must be freaking out.”

“Yeah. The cops have called me about her.”

“What did you say?”

“I played dumb. Which is what I am at this moment. You still think this invasion is going to happen?”

“Unless something major is done to stop it.” Ali paused. “Nira’s probably right that Lucy or Sheri or whoever won’t harm you. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll call you tomorrow. By then, I’ll know what I need you for.”

“You rest, too. You’re still a human being.”

Ali yawned. “I’m sure feeling that side of me right now.”

Her food came not long after. She just signed the bill as
Sheri Smith and gave the guy a big tip and dug in. After she had finished saving the world, she would settle up the bill more honestly. In the meantime, she just hoped the kitchen didn’t realize the room was supposed to be empty. She didn’t want to give up her dinner. She was famished! She had not finished her sandwich at Nancy Pillar’s home. Plus she was convinced flying burned up more calories than any treadmill.

A pity. She had a feeling she would be doing a lot of flying come tomorrow.

Ten minutes after she finished eating, she laid down to sleep, and blacked out in seconds. She dreamed, though, about dragons and purple smoke.

Ali did not need more than five hours of rest to make a complete recovery. She was at General Kabrosh’s door at dawn. Before she stormed the place, she paused to listen, heard just one person, a male snoring in the far bedroom. She opened the door by turning the knob firmly. The inner lock mechanism cracked in her hand, but she did not hear any alarm go off.

But there must have been an alarm of some kind, for she heard Kabrosh stop snoring and swiftly sit up in bed. Ali heard a drawer open—no doubt he was reaching for a gun. That was fine with her. Stepping inside, she softly closed the door behind her, and walked into the kitchen and purposely broke a glass. She did not have long to wait. He came after her in a gray robe, holding a cocked semiautomatic. As he turned the corner that led into the kitchen, she surprised him from behind.

A smack on the side of the head and a blinding chop to his gun arm, and he was down. Picking up the pistol, helping him up off the floor, she tossed him in a chair in the living room
and sat on a sofa across from him. As he emerged from his daze, she leveled the gun in his face.

“General Kabrosh, I presume?” she asked.

He was sixty and gray, but lithe and wiry. He worked out. His eyes were cold and dark, his skin grizzled from too much sun. He looked like a soldier, a hard man, but there was a discipline in him, courage as well. He did not panic when he saw the gun. Nor did he act surprised that she was thirteen years old. A bird must have whispered in his ear . . .

“Answer me. I know of your connection to Sheri Smith,” Ali said. “In fact, she told you I might stop by, didn’t she? But you did not really believe it. But I’m here, and she’s not, and you’ve got no one to protect you.”

He squinted at her. She might have hit him too hard. His voice came out gravely. “What do I need protection from?” he asked.

“Me.” She gestured to her scars with the tip of the gun. “The person who did this to me, he looks pretty next to me.”

Kabrosh drew in a ragged breath. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Just someone who worries that all the nuclear bombs in this country aren’t where they’re supposed to be.” Ali paused.

Kabrosh grew quickly alert. “Why?”

“You just bought two expensive homes. One in Switzerland, the other on an island in the Fijis. And you supposedly live on a soldier’s pay.”

“Who told you that lie?”

“Someone familiar with the money Sheri Smith gives you.”

“I don’t know any Sheri Smith.”

“You talk to her regularly.”

He snorted. “You can’t prove that.”

“Because you use a secure line?” Ali paused. “Do you know a
character in your partner’s bestselling computer game is named after you? Don’t you think that was rather sloppy of her? To point such a huge finger in your direction? I bet that annoyed you. But you couldn’t complain, could you? You wanted the money and she wanted to give it to you—in exchange for a bomb.”

He paled slightly, but kept his voice even. “You still haven’t told me who you are. FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”

“Do I look old enough to belong to such organizations?”

“No. You don’t.” He sat up and nodded to the gun. “You don’t even look old enough to know how to fire one of those. I bet you never have. I’m right, right?”

Ali aimed at his knee. “Want me to blow off your kneecap to show you what a great shot I am?”

“Fire that gun and every cop in the area will be here in a minute.” He stood. “I suggest you take your conspiracy theories and get out of my house before I call the police and . . .”

Ali was on him in an instant. He did not see her coming. Leaping over the space that separated them, she grabbed him from behind, broke his right arm in three places, and gagged him with her free hand. Then she pulled him lower, so that she could whisper in his ear.

“General Kabrosh, you’ve got to take me seriously. Your arm is hurting, I can feel your pain, honestly, but it’s a mere fraction of the agony you’ll suffer if you don’t answer my questions. Understand?”

He nodded weakly. Ali released him, let him fall back into the chair. Again, she took her place on the sofa. She pointed out the window at the hotel across the street. “Do you know they serve the best chocolate cake in the world over there?” she asked.

He coughed to clear his throat, shaking. He really was in pain.

“How can you be so strong?” he gasped.

“Like Sheri, I’m special. In all your dealings with her, you must have noticed a few unusual things around her.” Ali paused. “Please don’t tell me you don’t know her. Not again.”

Kabrosh nodded weakly. “I noticed she was unique.”

“Did she explain to you why she wanted the bomb?”

He did not answer. Merely stared down at his broken arm. The kinks in it were grotesque; it was already turning purple. She could tell he wanted to reply to her question but was afraid—of her and Sheri. Yet she felt not a shred of pity for him. A man who would sell the agony of millions for money? Such a person did not deserve to live.

“She did not say,” he finally admitted.

Ali sensed truth in his words. “Was it a powerful bomb?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a single bomb?”

“Yes.”